“If I become the chief suspect, I can keep to my rooms,” Amberdrake pointed out reasonably. “In fact, if I become the chief suspect, I’ll have a good reason to keep to my rooms. The others will be here in a few days; I’ll have guards enough then to keep me safe, don’t you think?”
“You can never have enough guards,” Skan muttered, but he nodded reluctantly. “I want to go on the record as thinking this is a very bad idea, though,” he continued. “You aren’t and never were a fighter, no matter what most of the Kaled’a’in are. You never got any closer to the front lines than the Healers’ tents. You haven’t got a fighter’s instincts. I—”
“Skan, you forget what I was before I was a kestra’chern,” Amberdrake interrupted softly. “I haven’t been sheltered from violence my entire life. I weathered the flight from Ma’ar’s troops as a boy, I weathered the war with his army, and I managed to do all right on the journey into the West. And I may not be a fighter, but I’ve kept myself in shape the whole time.”
If that remark was supposed to annoy the gryphon, it fell wide of the mark. “I’ve gotten myself back in shape, too, Drake,” Skan said, just as pointedly. “I make a better target than you. I’m not human, and I am a fighter, with plenty of practice at dodging whatever is thrown or shot at me.”
“You make a much more conspicuous target than I do, and I’d say that disqualifies you,” Amberdrake snapped, then looked contrite. “I’m sorry; I’m short on sleep and on tolerance, and this hasn’t helped. I promise, I will be very careful, but this thing is too important not to take some risks in order to get it solved. Is that enough?”
Skan closed his eyes for a moment, trying to quell the sick feeling he had in the pit of his stomach when he thought of pulling that same arrow in his talon out of Amberdrake. Odd. I was always the one who went charging off into danger, and it never bothered me like this. But put Drake on the line of fire—The sick feeling rose to his crop, and he fought the nausea down. Is this how my friends felt about me? I can’t stand the idea of him being in danger! I not only want to protect him, I want to keep him out of it!
Yet wasn’t it Amberdrake’s right to decide what he did, what he volunteered for? I certainly didn’t need anyone telling me what to do with my life, and I’d have resented anything Drake did to “protect” me. And he is right, damn him. These murders are going to wreck everything with the Haighlei and may send us into a war neither side can win if we can’t solve them.
“If you aren’t careful,” Skan said savagely, through a clenched beak, “what this enemy of ours does to you will be nothing compared to what I’II do to you if you get hurt!”
“Fair enough.” Amberdrake ran a hand through his long, tangled hair, and smiled wanly up at Skan, who glowered down at him. “As long as I’m awake, why don’t you tell me everything you said to the people back home, and what they said to you. The less Winterhart knows, the better, and I don’t want to worry Zhaneel, but I need to know what you’ve ordered. If I’m going make a target out of myself, the least you can do is keep me completely informed.”
Of all the nerve! Skan folded his wings tightly, and gave Amberdrake a nasty look. “That’s not fair, Drake,” he growled. “That’s blackmail.”
“So it is.” Amberdrake nodded agreeably, then pulled his robe more tightly around himself, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall. It constantly amazed Skan how the man could look so attractive even when he was disheveled. “You might as well talk because I’ll continue to make you feel guilty until you tell me what I want to know. I’m very good at it—as you very well know.”
Damn him. He is good at it. All he has to do is put on a certain expression—or drop the right word or two. He could have been my mother.
Skan growled wordlessly and gave in. “Mostly, I told them what was going to happen. If they’re going to insist that I’m their leader, then in a situation like this one, damn if I’m not going to get arbitrary.”
Amberdrake nodded as if he had expected something of the sort. “And who were ‘they’? You mentioned Judeth; who else was in on the conversation?”
“Judeth, Snowstar, Vikteren, Aubri. That was the most Kechara could handle over the distance, and she simply repeated to me what Judeth and Vikteren were saying rather than relaying their mind-voices.” He tilted his head to one side. “I put Snowstar in charge of White Gryphon, taking my place indefinitely. He didn’t like it, but he agreed. Vikteren is staying, too. Judeth and Aubri are coming here themselves.”
I think Snowstar guesses I plan to put him in charge permanently. I’m no leader—and I think once people get used to deferring to Snowstar in this emergency, they won’t have any more trouble deferring to him ever again. I suspect he’d have been made the Kaled’a’in k’Leshya Clan Leader if Lionwind hadn‘t been so charismatic and capable.
“Your idea or theirs?” Amberdrake asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
“Theirs mostly, but—hell, Drake, we’ve worked together before, and I’d rather have them than some green gryphlet who thinks I’m only a legend.” He turned away from Amberdrake for a moment and gazed back north, in the direction of the settlement. All that was visible past the buildings of the city and Palace were trees, but his heart knew where home was, and he wished he could be back there now.
And yet—no, he wouldn’t have missed this for the world. He felt his blood stirring again, felt effective for the first time in years. “I told them to bring black featherdye with them. I’m going to be the Black Gryphon again.”
He expected Amberdrake to protest, but there was only silence from the kestra’chern. He turned back to see his friend nodding.
“Oddly enough, this is not a surprise,” Amberdrake said, startling him a little. The kestra’chern smiled at Skan’s reaction. “You are remembering who you are, after being made into someone else by the needs of others. Others may not see it, but a close friend or a kestra’chern can. I am a kestra’chern. Accurate perception is part of the job.”
“So it is.” Skan bowed slightly in his direction. “Well, I told them what the situation was here—that we had an enemy who was more interested in taking us out than confronting us. I told them that there was no point in arguing about whether or not we were going to do something about him, because we couldn’t afford not to.”
‘True enough. We discussed that to death last night.” Amberdrake sighed, and leaned his head back against the stone of the wall. “Who’s coming, then?”
“No mages,” Skan said quickly. “Judeth wanted Vikteren there; he didn’t want to go because we’re still getting mage-storms and you never know what they’re going to kick up. I thought about it, and agreed with him—more because these people don’t want mages around than because I think he’s right about being indispensable.”
“There is Snowstar, after all,” Amberdrake pointed out with a smile. “Vikteren would be very useful, if we could just keep the fact that he’s a mage a secret.”
“Oh, yes, we all know Snowstar is more powerful than he is, and there are half a dozen others as good as he is. Still.” Skan clicked his beak a little. “On more reflection, I would still want him in place in White Gryphon. He does have a knack for handling situations no one else has ever seen or heard of before. So he stays. The main thing I told them, though, was that I had to get to the heart of this mess, or I might not have a settlement to come back to—” he snapped his beak, “—or else, the Black Gryphon Skandranon might come back to a blackened city. That would be bad. So all I wanted on this job were experienced Silvers with good sense and good judgment—which ought to let out Aubri, but I’m sentimental,” he added with a gape-grin.